The question of why this happened to Lennon keeps coming up in my head, yet neither am I able to find an answer, nor am I able to accept that there might just not be a reason. Sometimes when I wake up at night, I find it impossible to get back to sleep - the questions keep coming back and I find myself reliving the day, the hours before the accident, the moment I was told that there was an accident and the moment I arrived at the farm to be told the impossible, heart-breaking and just not acceptable fact that our son did not survive.

Over and over I ask myself whether there were signs and I could have prevented this. Whether there is some tiny bit of information missing, that - if I found it - would explain this tragedy. And at the same time I don't want there to be a reason, because no reason could possibly be good enough.

Like any parent we would have done anything in our power to keep our baby safe. We sterilised his bottles and dummies when he was tiny, bought a stairgate when he started crawling, taught him to wear a helmet when he started driving his balance bike and made sure he would eat his peas. It just doesn't make sense to me that this accident happened - no matter how much we all loved Lennon and no matter how hard we all tried to keep him safe - that this was beyond our power.

It drives me insane to think that if anything had been different on that day - maybe if it had it rained, if the tractor had driven just that tiny bit slower or faster, if I had taken him swimming - Lennon could still be here. For that reason I occasionally try to persuade myself that Lennon might just have been our precious present for a short while, that there was a reason for him being our son, who - no matter what anyone would have done - had to leave us on that sunny July afternoon.

But re-reading the paragraphs that I have just written I come to the sad conclusion that it might just not matter if there is an answer, or not. The reality of us having to get through this life without Lennon remains the same.